


Devil's Radio

by chapmanspipe



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, john is a sarcastic bish, paul is a good friend, poor georgie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapmanspipe/pseuds/chapmanspipe
Summary: George was just... curious.Ringo guides him as well as he can.





	1. Words that thoughtless speak

**Author's Note:**

> Rpff, smut, will evolve in more bondage/bdsm later on. I have an experienced dom to help me out, so expect very safe bdsm, nothing too hard and harsh. An exploration for me too.  
> Modern AU  
> Think of me what you will. Projection of myself and my questions in a fic. And no, OCs wouldn’t have done the trick.  
> I hope you can enjoy this c:

He felt the phone in his pocket buzz. His sweaty hands took the damned thing out of his pocket.  
Why in the seven heavens was he even nervous? He’d met up with guys for a quickie multiple times, that’s how it seemed to work nowadays.  _No time for romance, all of them queers_ , he thought. He set that aside in favour of the text.  
  
_Fri 22-02, 10.06 PM  
am @ corner Lime Street _ _😉_

_Fri 22-02, 10.06 PM  
                                            omw c:_

His heart was hammering in his chest. This was going to be a totally new experience, if they saw it through. As he arrived at Lime Street station, he didn’t know what to expect. Richard had said he’d wear a bandana, alluding to the old ‘hanky coding’ that queer people had to use back in the day. They had agreed on grey, since Richard (‘Just call me Ringo 😊’) had told him that he wasn’t ready for black yet. Whatever he said, right? He was the expert. So, George had tied the bandana around his head, looking like a ‘fuckin’ hippie’ according to his Da. Better that than have him know about…This. Wherever this was going to be. He had a feeling their relationship would just turn sourer if Harold Harrison found out about him being a poof.  
  
He jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder, quickly turning around. In front of him stood a slightly smaller man, hanky in the front left pocket of tethered jeans jacket. He had the most melancholic blue eyes, a big nose, nice plump lips that looked very soft. He smiled and said “hi” while George took his earphones out, greeting him back.  
  
“I though it was best to meet up in public, and go to my place now? Unless you want to go out or something first?” Ringo asked him. George shook his head.  
“I’m sorry, but, eh, perhaps some other time. I’m… a little bit tight on budget now, you see.” Ringo just smiled at him, probably having been in this position himself a few times. If only George’s problem wasn’t chronical.  
“I understand, mate, I really do. Grew up in the Dingle, you know.”   
George swallowed, nodded. He was glad he met someone who would probably not make him feel inadequate and below himself. People said they didn’t do class and all that nonsense anymore, until you started building a deeper relationship with them. They never understood why you couldn’t go out with them. Why small things like going to the movies prior to a date was a problem.  
  
They started walking, Ringo had said his place wasn’t too far from here, anyway. It was a shabby old place; the door and windowsills were all flaky and cracked.  
“It doesn’t look like much but it’s what I can call mine,” Ringo said with a light smile when they entered. They stood in the kitchen slash living room, George only spotted two other doors, one to the bedroom, the other one to the bathroom. He felt nervous, jumped up when Ringo’s bejewelled hand touched his wrist. Ringo just smiled at him, mentioning towards the small couch that was crammed in the corner.  
  
“You want to have something to drink?”  
“Just water, please.”  
Ringo handed him the glass, poured himself some water as well. They talked a bit about their jobs, their homes, anything, really. George felt pretty comfortable, sitting across this stranger who was actually interested in him speaking about his dream to become a guitarist.  
  
“I play the drums meself ya know. For, like, about half of Liverpool,” he laughed.  
“A friend of mine, Paul, he met this dude, John. He has a band. But he doesn’t want to take me on, yet. I’m too young, he says.” Ringo looked at him, nodded compassionately.   
“You’re only 18. If he’s as old as me, I can see why he’d say that, but I also understand you. You want to do something that makes you happy, and he could be a gateway to that.”  
“Exactly! It feels so unfair sometimes. I just want a break from everything…”  
Ringo extended his hand, placing it on top of George’s.  
“I can give you a break. Even if it’s just momentarily.” George nodded.  
Ringo hesitated, gripping the hand tighter.  
“The first rule of BDSM is consent. Never forget that. Alright?”  
“Yeah. Is this where we, like, set up a contract or something?” Ringo laughed wholeheartedly, certainly not menacing.  
“We can if you want to. I can make one up now?” George grinned, but shook his head.  
“Perhaps later.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Ringo looked at him softly, like he was happy George had said that. Planning was a thing George was pretty bad at.  
Ringo sat closer to George, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.  
“We’re not going too far today, you know. But if you want to go on, I’ll need some info on you, okay?” George turned his head, leaning in closer to the older man.  
“Yeah, alright,” he breathed, “I need a safe word?”  
Ringo nodded, placing his forehead on George’s.  
“It’s ‘red’”, George added. He was ready for this. Their lips touched, softly, exploring the feeling of the other. Ringo was stroking his thigh, he himself trying to return the favour. His hand got swatted lightly.  
“Not until I tell you to, darling.” Came from the shorter man, who kissed him more fervently now, sitting up to deepen the kiss. George felt something stir in his belly, a good sign. It wasn’t exactly hard to feel attracted to Ringo, anyway. He felt his tongue going over his bottom lip and George admitted him access. They were both soon gasping for air, getting more and more turned on.  
Ringo detached himself from George, and stood up.  
“The bedroom will be more comfortable,” he said with a light smile. George looked absolutely beautiful, slightly dishevelled, with a pretty pink colour on his cheeks. He took him by the hand, leading him on. They took their shoes and socks off, crawling on the bed. Ringo stops George for a moment.  
“If anything feels off, just say red. We don’t know each other too well, so I don’t know what your boundaries are. After a while, I’ll get to know you better and I’ll read you better, too. Okay?”  
George nodded. Ringo took his chin, making him look the man in the eyes.  
“Tell me.”  
“Yes.”  
“Yes,  _sir_ ,” Ringo added, “I’m going to get some stuff, please do lay back and relax, okay George? I’m going to try a blindfold on you, and some light swats, if that sounds okay to you.”  
“Yes, sir.” George answered. Was he doing well? If he wasn’t, Ringo would say so, wouldn’t he?  
He placed himself against the cushions behind him, taking off his jacket and hoodie. The room was small and cramped but decorated to look homely. He was definitely aroused, though.  
Ringo came back, not looking much different, with a simple blindfold and some water; he did have a different aura around him. Authoritative, competent,  _dominant_. It sent a shiver down George’s spine.  
“Look at you, what a good boy. Those pants look a little tight, don’t they?”  
George nodded. Ringo lifted an eyebrow.  
“I can’t hear you, darling. Speak up.”  
“Yes sir, sorry.” That earned George a smile. Ringo straddled his middle, holding the blindfold.  
“Ready?”  
“Yes, sir.” George felt stupid at his answers. But it was what it was. The older man tied the soft thing before his eyes. George still had to adjust himself to this feeling, to the need to use his other senses.  
Ringo smelled warm, like cinnamon. The room smelled pretty clean, and the bed like laundry detergent, the cheap one his Mum also uses. He feels Ringo’s fingers at the hem of his shirt, probing, tugging it up. He feels the callouses on the tips of his fingers, tracing over his skin. It gives him goose bumps. His breath hitches when Ringo focuses on his nipples, hardening them, twisting slightly.  
“Do you like that, darling? You do, don’t you, I can hear it.”, a soft chuckle followed.  
“I can do much more, you know. Do you want me to?”  
“Yes, yes.” George breathed. Ringo tutted, nibbling on his earlobe.  
“Yes, who, Georgie?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“It’s your first time, so I’m letting not going to punish you for that now, okay darling?”  
“Thank you sir.”  
Ringo kissed him on the lips, biting lightly on his lips.  
“Good boy, George.” He praised him, and something stirred in George’s heart. He wanted more of that. Ringo kissed him, down his neck, all over his body, making George throw his head backwards.  
It was making him hard, and his jeans were too tight, anyway. Ringo seemed to have noticed it, as he snickered once, and traced the top of his jeans. He opened the button, and unzipped it. George was squirming, he wanted Ringo to touch him.  
“Hmmm how eager are we, Georgie?”, he asked rhetorically, while taking the jeans off. George’s boxers were nicely tented, with a light wet spot where the head was.  
“Turn around,” Ringo ordered, helping George. He wasn’t unreasonable.  
The younger man let out a gasp when he put pressure on his hard dick, shivering lightly at the sensation. Ringo was getting harder, too, letting him feel it by pulling George up to lean on his hunches, ass pressed to the older man’s jeans.  
“That’s what you did, you beautiful boy,” he said, while stroking George’s sides. He heard little gasps, and the start of a moan.  
“Let me hear you enjoy this, George.” No answer. Perfect, this was what Ringo had been waiting for.  
A light slap on his bum made George yelp. The other man placed a kiss on his spine, rubbing on the spot where he had just slapped the younger one.  
“I want to hear you, George.”  
“Sorry, sir.”, he mumbled.  
“Hmmm, good boy, such a good boy, aren’t you?”. Ringo started kneading his ass, George emitted a deep moan.  _Now we’re talking,_  he thought, pushing back into those soft hands. It earned him another slap, harder this time.  
“So eager, are we? I’ll tell you when you can move.” Ringo hissed at him, slapping him harder this time. A shudder went through George, followed by a whimper and a moan when Ringo started massaging him again.  
  
“I’m going to spank you five times now, will you count with me darling?” he asked. George had to scrape his throat before croaking a “Yes, sir,” at him. Ringo’s hand came down.  
“One.”  
“Two.” This stirred something in him, some deeper desire.  
“Three.”  
“Four.” His ass started stinging.  _Wimp,_  he thought,  _you can do better, pussy._  
“Five.” Oh, it was stinging, alright, but it also felt… Very good.  
“That’s a good lad, well done,” Ringo praised. It made George’s heart leap. Ringo was kissing his back again, stroking his hair.  
“Want another round, or do you want to suck me off, darling?” he inquired. Best to not beat around the bush now.  
“Can I have another round, sir?” Ringo was stroking his ass, now, humming happily.  
“You can, luv. You’re doing very well.”  
He counted to six this time, his breathing coming out laboured and quick. Ringo sensed he wouldn’t last very long if they didn’t do something about that soon. He removed his own pants and shirt, positioning himself in front of George’s face.  
“A little challenge now, George. You can touch me, no hands, though.” George’s breathing quickened, he licked his lips in anticipation. He mouthed the outline of Ringo’s dick in his underwear, trying to access it directly by pulling down his underwear with his teeth. Him failing made Ringo giggle, so he helped a bit. He realised George must be pretty uncomfortable in this position as well, having his dick squashed between his belly and legs. He grinned. The lad asked for an introduction in BDSM, after all. Ringo’s thought went fleeting when George licked his length, and took him in his mouth. He grabbed a fistful of hair, guiding the younger man. The latter hummed and moaned happily around his cock, his face painted a pretty scarlet. The sight made him moan George’s name.  
Ringo was getting close, but decided it was perhaps best to end with blowjobs, instead of sex. They could take it further the next time, if George wanted to.  
“Do you want me to touch you, George?”  
“Y-y-yes s-sir.” George managed to say.  
“Beg. Beg me to touch you darling.”  
“P-please, sir. T-touch me, touch me, please.” He moaned. Ringo guided him up and close, both sitting on their calves. He teased George by touching him everywhere but his cock first. He latched onto his nipple, sucking and biting it, while stroking the other man softly.  
“If only you could see yourself, luv. You’re so beautiful.” George moaned louder, moving against Ringo more erratically with every stroke.  
“You can touch me too, darling.” He whispered.  
“Yes-ssir,”. They were both sweaty, kissing each other like there was no tomorrow.  
George came with a load groan, soon followed by Ringo, painting them both with white stringy stripes.  
  
They collapsed on the bed. Ringo took a wet wipe from a box next to his bed, cleaning them up and he freed George from his blindfolds. He blinked against the soft light from the bedside lamp.  
“Enjoyed it?” Ringo murmured. He nodded, too exhausted to say anything anymore.  
“You want to stay over?” answered by another nod, Ringo snuggled up to George, stroking his hair out of his face, George’s eyes were closing already.  
“Goodnight, darling.” He didn’t even notice Ringo’s lips on his forehead, as he had already tumbled in a deep slumber.


	2. (This is not) Worth It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abuse from a parent, hateful language  
> I’m sorry for this DRAMATIC chapter, I can’t help it. I’m working through things and tbh. I need this. Sorry if this sounds cliché. George’s family actually loved him very much!
> 
> This is a spotify link to the song used as a chapter title: https://open.spotify.com/track/4YMvPnps7Z4Bks0MEzoMTr?si=mWxNDp5GRdqMeNKpxZhhrg

George woke up from a light poke to his side. He grumbled and turned himself around.  
“I have to get up, George, please,” a soft voice laughed in his ear, a hand stroking his hair.  
George opened his eyes, looking up in a heavenly blue. He smiled softly, feeling warm and loved by this man he’s only known for roughly a week. He could easily wake up to this, forever.  
“I don’t want to kick you out, George, but I do have a shift with my Mum in three hours,” Ringo whispered, planting a kiss on the other man’s nose. He moved away, out of the bed and asked:  
“Eggs for breakfast?” while disappearing in the living room slash kitchen, not even waiting for an answer. George yawned and stretched, feeling a need to pee rise. He got up, put his clothes on, then on to the loo. As he washed his hands, he looked in the mirror. He saw a bony, wiry young man, hair a mess. He still didn’t know whether to love this or not. Some days he did, some days… He shook his head. It was better not to linger in that train of thought.  
  
They had a nice breakfast together, until it was time for them to each go their way. George hesitated in the doorway on his way out.  
“Can I see you again?” he asked, seemingly very interested in his feet all of a sudden, so he missed the warm smile on Ringo’s face.  
“Of course. Just tell me when, okay?” he lifted George’s head, so they looked in each other’s eyes.  
“I normally have the weekend off, this is an emergency,” he added before kissing the other man lightly. George nodded, cheeks slightly pink under the attentive gaze of Ringo. He took the smaller man’s hand and said a soft goodbye. The door closed behind him with a dull thud, bringing George back to reality, ready to head home.

  
  
“I’m home!” he shouted when he’d closed the door. No one answered, so George moved to the kitchen. His Da and Mum were both at the table, a heavy silence enveloping the room.  
George swallowed. This wasn’t good. He chewed his lip, lingering in the doorway.  
“Hi, eh, Da, Mum,” he greeted, softly and strangely warbled. He felt nervous to the core, anxiety rose inside him and he felt a light panic settling in his brain. He decided to come into the kitchen, but no further than the table.  
“I’m sorry for not letting you know I’d stay the night at my friend’s house, I-“ he started, until his father slammed his paper on the table, making George jump a little, he promptly stopped talking.  
“You’ll speak when you’re spoken to. Go to the shed, I have a job for you,” his father hissed, lips a thin line, eyebrows knitted in a heavy frown. His eyes told George this was bad news. So the boy nodded, a lump in his throat making it hard to speak anyway. Peter greeted him on his way out, patting his shoulder in sympathy. George was trying very hard to keep his face neutral, Da would get more upset if he didn’t. As a soldier in waiting, he stood at the shed, hands next to his body.  
Harold Harrison came out of the back door, not showing any emotions. George shivered. It was one of these moods, then. A silent treatment. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, praying frantically Da wouldn’t want to see it. That this would be allowed as a misstep. His father held out a hand, for George to hand over the phone, which he did reluctantly. At least he couldn’t see the text message, but this was not the time to feel better. After opening the shed, his Da had stepped in and took out a little hoe out, placing it in George’s hand. Pulling out weeds it was, then. George didn’t look him in the eye, just nodded in silence, and went to work. At least he had the memory of Ringo to keep him warm, and he’d text him when he got his phone back.  
  
A few hours later, it had started drizzling. George was still on his knees trying to get the weeds out. He was sure to double check since anything green that didn’t belong would surely get him a different punishment, too. He sat up for a moment, his stomach gurgling. His back hurt, and his clothes were getting soaked and damp. He huffed, his arms were starting to get heavy from working through the garden. He felt a light tap on his shoulder, Peter had come to elevate him from his task.  
“Da wants to talk to ya, Geo.” His brother said, with a worried frown on his face. George swallowed, nodding. He got up and felt shivers wrecking his body, his hair dripping water in his face.  
“What time is it, Pete?” he croaked, trying to swipe his hair into a different direction without wiping mud on his face. He went to the tap outside, to wash his hands, still waiting for his brother to answer him. It was strange that he had fallen silent so fast, so he searched the garden for his brother, who stood at the door, with his back towards George. He opened his mouth to ask again when he saw his Da, talking in hushed tones to his brother. Da looked pissed, his thick eyebrows highlighting his frown. George stood still, trying not to look at the two in the doorway, waiting for further instruction.  
He heard Pete sigh, he didn’t sound too pleased either. His brother came closer, putting his hand on George’s shoulder. The smaller one of the two shivered, he could feel the dampness of his clothes on his bare skin now. He sneaked a look, his brother looked rather sad.  
“Come in, little brother. Just don’t make a mess and head up to our room. I’ll come in later,” Pete whispered, trying to keep his brother grounded in this world. George did what he asked, and sat down on the chair at the desk. He hadn’t asked to change, so he sat there, still cold and clammy.  
He jumped on his feet when he heard the door open, only to be greeted by his brother, who smiled apologetically at him, and handed his phone over.  
“Paul called, several times. You might want to ring him,” Peter’s face dropped at his brother’s silent nod. He pointed at the clothes.  
“Please change your clothes, Geo? You’re all damp and muddy,” he continued while settling himself on his bed, waiting for his brother to do anything.  
  
After he changed his outfit, George settled down on the floor. You couldn’t be too sure. Pete made a face like he had sucked on a lemon, but he knew how it went. This was the drill in Silent Mode.  
  
_Sat. 23-02, 17.32_  
_Geo where are u???????_  
 _GEO?????_

_Got put on silent mode, meet up tmrw? At 1?_

_GOD GEO im so sorry :ccc_  
_*hugs*_  
_Okay, John is coming too_  
 _We love you Haz, remember that._  
 _Do you need smt?_

_Yeah, nibbles would be nice  
                                       Srry have to stop, see u tmrw_

As he heard someone on the stairs, he put away his phone, waiting for whoever came up to enter.  
It was Mum, with fresh washed clothes. Peter didn’t even smile at her, just took the basket and started to empty it in their closet, with George’s help. Their hands knocked, and Pete notice how cold his bony brother still felt.  
“Go sit at the radiator, please, Geo. No need to get ill now, right?” he asked. George just nodded, pulling his knees up so he could rest his face there. His little brother’s dark eyes had a light lifeless tint to them. The silence put Peter on edge, too. He didn’t like any of this. He used to not have a clue what exactly it did to people, but now he was becoming a teacher, he knew. As a kid it seemed like a game that only George could play with their parents, and he didn’t like it because he couldn’t play. He remembers shoving their small brother around until he cried, because he liked seeing him lose. But after a while, it had lost its appeal. He saw the pain it caused to their growing brother, it was a dichotomy between the usually loving side of their parents and Silent Mode, a very big gap, too big for a small child to understand and place. To the outside it looked less cruel than physical abuse, but it had a big impact on George. He was shy, easily spooked, and overly clingy to people who actually liked him. The usually cocky smartass turned into a small lost child when you ignored him for too long, and if he had a chance to sleep in your bed, he latched onto you like an octopus.  
Paul had complained to Pete about it in the past, even though Peter had a few years on him too, until George had lifted a bit of the veil and had hinted at what caused him to be like this. This turned Paul from a moany teenager to a caring and loving friend. He helped out in the school’s canteen, getting George extra helpings of food if he needed them, offering him a place to stay when Silent Mode got to heavy for him to carry.  
  
Pete brought some food up after their parents had settled in front of the telly. Marmite sandwiches weren’t the best food, but it was food. He draped a warm blanket around his still cold brother, sitting next to him at the radiator.  
“I’ll push them out of it, if I need to, Georgie. I promise you,” Peter said, face determined and serious. George snuggled into his side some more, relishing the warmth he radiated, nibbling slowly on the sandwiches, drinking some orange juice Pete had brought too.  
“Thanks, Peter,” he said, voice raspy and barely noticeable. He loved his siblings. All of them would go through the fire for him. It made his heart heavy and his mind dark. _They have to carry all of this dead weight, too,_ he thought. It was unfair. Peter distracted him by asking where he was last night.  
“Visiting a new friend,” was all he got back from his brother, who had finished his food now and was practically dozing off. Peter picked him up with ease, his brother being all but skin and bones anyway, putting him in his own bed. He knew George slept better when he had someone to latch onto.  
He put out the lights and crawled in with his brother. Stroking his hair, he felt the boy shiver, shake, and wet patches on his shoulder where Geo’s head rested.  
It wasn’t fair.  
  
The following morning, Peter woke up to an empty bed and a text message from his brother:  
  
_Sun 24-02, 08.45_  
Meet up w Pol  
will text if im back fr school

Meanwhile, George had made his way to Paul’s house, climbing the rickety ladder that was or wasn’t put there for him, through the window into Paul’s house. He found his friend dead asleep, and closed the window before slipping out most of his clothes and nudging the sleeping figure. Paul groaned, opening his eyes a little, only to huff out a sigh and lifting the blanket to let George slip under it.  
“Why do you always have to be so cold, Geo, couldn’t you wait a little,” the older one murmured, closing his eyes again, not waiting for an answer. He felt the bony arm of his friend draped over his side, grabbing his hand. A cold nose at his shoulder and the warm puffs of breath at his neck. They both fell back into dreamland, warm and cosy. Together.


	3. The Dreamers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBSGTU889bw&ab_channel=TheSummerCabin

Paul entangled himself from his young friend, keeping him under the covers a little longer. George’s face looked carefree and young when he was sleeping, a sight to saviour, Paul knew. The next period, until Silent Mode was called off, was going to be a tough one. He’d have to inform his Dad to count in one more at the table. His phone buzzed, probably John.  
  
_Sun 24-02, 10.11_  
_Have you heard from our little one?_  
_Doesn’t answer my texts_

 _Yh hes here with me_  
                                            _In bed now_  
_Starfish?_  
                                            _Yh x)_  
_Deserves it tho_

 _Cu later then <3_  
_xxx and hug him_  
                                            _okay honey :*_  
_xxxxxxxx I will_  
_got his bday present?_  
Yepppp c:

  
Paul grinned at his phone and slid it back in his pocket. He started dressing when he saw two brown eyes peek up from under the covers. A small yawn followed by a cough.  
“Good morning, Hazza. Happy birthday!” Paul exclaimed while stepping in his jeans. He threw himself on the bed, hugging George and planting a kiss on his forehead. George held onto him like a drowning man to a raft, his eyes filling with tears. He wiped them away before Paul could see it, and grinned, grateful for his friend’s enthusiasm. It was going to be a nice day out, that much he already knew. George cuddled Paul a little longer until his phone started buzzing, too. He let go, and reached for the thing, the light on top flickering. It was Ringo.

 _24-02, 10.30_  
Happy birthday luv _😉_ __  
Lots of kisses and hugs!  
Hope you want to see me soon  
so I can spoil you and treat you right _😉_ _😉_  
_xxx Ringo_

                                            _Heeeyyy Rings <3_  
                                            I need to see you soon bb  
                                            I have some things to tell you xx  
                                            Oohhhh looking forward to that _😉_

George had to smile at the message. It seemed typically Ringo, for as far as they knew each other already. Paul looked at him curiously, the corners of his mouth tipping slightly upwards.  
“Who is it Geo? That one Richard lad you were texting with?” he asked, trying to take a peek at the message itself.  
George nodded, his eyes filling with life again.  
“He just wished me a happy birthday. He’s really nice, you know,” he admitted, slightly blushing at the memory of them at the apartment. The soft, slightly pudgy body of Ringo, caressing him. Asleep in the warm light of the morning. The shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks. The soft feel of these hands, tracing patterns into his hot skin.  
Paul smirked at his friend, who seemed to be miles away.  
“I think he’s more than just really nice, Georgie,” he teased, slapping the other flat on the bum.  
George yelped, and threw the covers off him, to chase Paul around the room. They collapsed on top of each other, out of breath, when Paul’s Da, Jim, called them down for breakfast. George shimmied into his clothes like a snake in a sweater, they were a few sizes too big on him to hide his skinny frame.  
  
After breakfast, and after George unpacked the McCartney’s present (“The Song Of Achilles” by Madeline Miller), they made their way to St-John’s Gardens, meeting up with John at the Lime Street Station first. It was cold out, but the sun was shining, it’s golden rays not only warming up the world a little, but also George’s mood. All of them were wrapped in knitwear, pulling off each other’s beanies once in a while, falling over laughing at one particular moment when George managed to pull his hoodie ‘like that one kid in the vine’, ears poking out severely.  
They got lunch and some snacks at the Aldi at St John’s Market (all under the giggles of one John Lennon: “This place is mine, I’m the patron saint of Food Markets and consumerism.”).  
Settling down on a bench, they talked about everything and anything. John produced a Tupperware container full of normal brownies, and a few candles. They sang for George, and presented him a wrapped, book-shaped gift. George meticulously peeled off the scribbled on brown paper, revealing a photo album. He grinned from ear to ear, hugging both of his friends.  
“Thanks, both of you,” he uttered, his voice small, his eyes glittering with emotions. John smirked.  
“Getting all emo on us ey? Look at our baby boy, Macca. All grown up,” he pretended to wipe a tear away, grabbing Paul by the hip. The latter pretended to be a grieving mother, handkerchief at his mouth, fake sobbing into it.  
“My beautiful, beautiful boy!” Paul imitated a trumpet, in lieu of a sniffle, all of them bursting into a fit of laughter.  
The album contained pictures of the trio, and additional pictures of other friends. Everyone had their dedicated page, all of them full of silly pictures, selfies and memes.  
“We left the rest of them blank, so you can stick some pics in there for yourself. Or add to these,” Paul explained while John was flipping through the pages, laughing at his own favourites, like the baby pictures Andrew had added. Georgie in pink overalls? Comedy gold.  
  
As the sun started to set, they returned to Lime Street. Paul and John made out before leaving, George making vomiting noises all the way through.  
“Dis-gus-TANG!” to “Is that allowed?”, the pair heard all of it. George even tried to snap them out of existence, at one point. He rarely felt like he was third-wheeling the couple, but in moments like these, all he could do was covering his yearning for something like that with memes, vines and awkward jokes.  
“Wait until we catch you and Richard, Georgie,” Paul warned, his face and tone stern. John’s interest piqued at the mention of a new name.  
“Oh, Richard? Show me! Is it that one guy from that forum you were on?” he inquired, wiggling his eyebrows comically. Suddenly George was once again crowded by the couple that called themselves his friends, demanding pictures of Ringo. So he indulged them, gladly gushing about the man.  
A selfie Ringo had made, showing off a cute t-shirt he had bought in H&M. Pictures of him and dogs. One a mate had shot, Ringo at the drums, looking really cool and handsome.  
“Mate, you sound like a teenage boy having his first crush,” John remarked.  
“Which is totally a good thing. He seems really into you, too, though,” Paul quickly added, frowning at John, who just shrugged and grinned at them apologetically. George turned a bright crimson, up to his ears, muttering something about _bloody noisy gays_ and _I am allowed emotions_ , only making both of his friends laugh harder at him. They said their goodbyes, at one point. John, back to Mimi.  
  
Silence enveloped Paul and George as they sat down on the bus. They were both texting and spending some time scrolling through social media. Paul scraped his throat.  
“Da is asking whether he should count you in for dinner tonight,” he said, watching George patiently as he fidgeted in his seat, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He shook his head.  
“I should try and go home,” George answered eventually. Not with a lot of gusto, but still. He would have to anyway.  
“You don’t have to you know,” Paul told him, brows furrowed. They both knew how much it hurt George to return to a cold home, certainly on his own birthday. He was 18 now, officially.  
“I can’t always come and cry in your arms either, Paul. You have class tomorrow,” George objected. Paul sighed.  
“I’m here if you need me, Geo. Just a text away,” he ensured the other boy, who nodded and said “I know, I know,” after giving him a small smile.  
They stayed silent for the rest of the drive, until George had to get off.  
“See you ‘round, Macca,” he greeted the other, who smiled at him and waved goodbye.  
“Just one text away, my friend,” he repeated, watching how his friend’s shoulders started to tense up and he ducked his head as he got off the bus. A heavy sigh escaped him. It just felt wrong to let him go after such a good day.  
  
George tried to open the door, but it was closed. He scowled, this wasn’t very usual. He grabbed his keys, and pried at the lock. Nothing. It didn’t fit. A sense of dread fell over George. His stomach cramped up and his brain started buzzing. This couldn’t be true, it wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening? He rang the doorbell. He heard a door open and close, and saw a shadow behind the curtain, probably to check if it were him. But no one opened the door. There was a wall of silence, and that was all he’d get.  
“Da? It’s me,” he tried, voice brittle, wavering. He took his phone out of his pocket, texting his brother, who called him back.  
“Pete? What’s going on?” he asked, nervous of the answer.  
“You… Well, you’re eighteen. You don’t attend school anyways. Mum and Da decided that if you find it so much be-,” his brother began, only to be interrupted by their Dad.  
“We’ve done so much for you, George. More than you know. And this is how you thank us? Running away to the McCartney’s? Jim called us. He _lectured_ us about you. You’re an ungrateful brat, George. You can live with them, it’s better there anyway isn’t it?!” Da was shouting into the phone now, making George feel guilty for everything he’d done and said. It’s true. He didn’t deserve today. He should have stayed inside, undergoing his punishment.  
“Normally you’re so quick with quips and backtalk, boy, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” his Da demanded an answer.  
“I… I thought I’d let you finish Da. I’m… I’m sorry I ran away,” he stammered, legs feeling like jelly.  
The front door opened, revealing his Mum in the doorway, duffel bag in her hand. Da had ended the call, standing on the stairs now.  
“It’s too late to say sorry, now. Go stew in your thoughts for a while. Come back with a decent apology, and we might consider your position,” Da was furious, his face was red and his posture was just plain intimidating. Mum threw the bag at his feet, a disgusted look on her face.  
“Last chance,” she hissed. George started crying. This couldn’t be happening right now. This was just a dream. He was still in Paul’s bed, he could undo this.  
But he wasn’t. This _was_ happening. He was being thrown out. His Dad scoffed at his sniffles.  
“Keep your self-pity for another time, you selfish cow,” he spat. This only upset George more, he wasn’t being selfish, this really hurt! How could his Da say this?  
“But… it’s my birthday?” he managed to bring out between sobs. He saw his Dad shrug and slam the door in his face. George was at a loss. Where to now? His brother had send him a text.

 _Sun 24-02, 19.36_  
I’m sorry little bro :c  
  
He left it on read. There was nothing Peter could do for him. George decided to walk towards the bus stop that would bring him to the center. He had a small idea of where he could go.  
In the meantime, he could have a big sob over his life now. Like the selfish boy he was. A feeling of guilt nestled itself in his abdomen, and his panicking brain got him to collapse on the seats at his stop, breathing heavily. He sent a text to Paul.  
  
_Sun 24-02, 19.46_  
_Got thrown out_  
_omw to Ringo now_  
_don’t worry pls don’t call_

He got a plethora of messages back, all of them worrying over him. George couldn’t deal with this right now, as he got onto the bus. He couldn’t cry in public. The boy took his headphones out of his duffel, plugged them into his phone, while texting Ringo, asking for help and a place to crash.

 _Sun 24-02, 19.51_  
_Oh no bb ;(_  
_ofc you can come ovr!_  
_I’ll pick you up @ Lime street_

_Thanks Rings_

He didn’t feel like typing more. He’d tell the man when they were safe in the apartment.  
Safe and warm in his arms, he could tell the disgusting truth about himself, hoping Ringo would still want him in his life after that. It doesn’t come easy, but perhaps this man could love him enough to let him stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned kinda personal. Please forgive me as I'm still on working through what happened to me at that same age. I'm sorry if you think this is unbelieveable, but it does happen to people. It happened to me.
> 
> You're always free to come talk to me on my tumblr! chapmanspipe.tumblr.com


	4. Update info

Hello everyone, I know it's been a while, but I had a lot to do the past 3 months.

Live had me down to not being able to write a lot :c

I'm writing on both fics so no worries :)

See you later!


	5. Just One Kiss - And I'm Alive

Ringo opened the inner door of the apartment, running out to meet up with George in the hallway.  
The boy looked tethered to the edge, eyes red, nose runny. Ringo frowned in worry, trying to look as welcoming and warm as he could. George stumbled towards him, his bottom lip quivering.  
“Oh, Georgie, babe,” Ringo cooed, pulling the boy into his arms. George started sniffling, holding onto the other man tightly as if he’d slip away in a puff of smoke. They let go, softly, and made their way into Ringo’s home. The older man led George to the couch, getting him to sit down and take off his shoes. He hadn’t said anything all the while, worrying Ringo even more.  
“Just, relax, George. I’ll get you some food and a blanket okay? Do you need anything else?”, he asked, eyes watering from seeing this young man in such pain. George’s dark brown eyes, now robbed of their light, stared up into his. His face looked splotchy, red, from crying. The boy bit on his lip and shook his head.  
  
Ringo headed into the kitchen, to warm up some leftovers he had in the fridge, pouring out a coke and some water for the poor boy in his living room. He carried the drinks out, set them down on the small coffee table. George was still sitting on the couch like Ringo had left him, staring at his holey socks. Ringo tried to smile a bit, to put him on ease. He grabbed a blanket from the armchair and draped it over the younger man, then sat down next to the boy, taking George’s cold hand in his. The other man looked at him now, shivering all over before bursting into tears. Ringo held him in his arms while the microwave let out a loud _ding!_ , telling them the food was warm, but the older man didn’t have the heart to let go of his young friend right now. The sobs were wrecking through his small frame, sounding painful and horrible. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t a recent development, but this had never happened before. Ringo kissed his cheek, trying to convey his love for his new friend as well as he knew how to. After a good ten minutes, George seemed to try and calm himself down. Still hiccupping, he let go of Ringo, wiping his eyes with his arm. Ringo put some paper tissues near them, getting up to get the food for George, who had curled up in the corner of the couch. He looked up to the older man, eyes swollen and red, nose still a bit wet from snot. Ringo tried a small smile, and presented the food to his friend, who looked at him with big eyes, mumbling a croaky “thank you”.  
  
George dug into the food with a fervour that told Ringo that he’d been really hungry, if not today then some time in the past. He sat next to his friend, switching on the tv to fill the silence. He’d ask about this ordeal when George was ready. The younger man finished his meal swiftly, like someone would take it away if he didn’t finish up in time. He started to relax, unclenching his hands and curling up in the couch while Ringo put the dishes in the dishwasher. George felt overwhelmed by sleep all of a sudden, the telly providing a nice white noise to fall asleep to. Ringo sat down next to him, taking one hand in his.  
  
“Want to head to bed, Georgie?” he asked, softly, while listening to the soft breathing of his friend. George didn’t answer, he didn’t even twitch, so Ringo decided he could be transported safely. He picked the other man up, careful to not wake him, and put him down on the bed. George whimpered a bit, turned to lay on his left side, and slept on. The older man readied himself for bed, a million questions and scenarios going through his mind, trying to find a solution for the two of them. It would be best for George to stay here, and continue to attend to school. He could pick up a job at McDo or something, so they could really provide for themselves. And solve whatever caused this situation in the first place. He crawled under the covers, making sure George was under them as well. As he too fell to the slumber, he felt a skinny body moving closer to him, and a warm breath on his shoulder. He took the hand behind him, and moved it over his own body, entangling their fingers. George relaxed immediately, and Ringo felt like he could fall asleep without worries. Warmth and the soft darkness of Oblivion enveloped them.

  
  
_George opened his eyes. He couldn’t see a thing, felt nothing. Just his own body. And a soft murmur somewhere far away, which piqued his interest, so he decided to follow that. He started walking towards them, and they did get louder. It sounded like his family, watching telly. He stopped at a door, which looked exactly like the one in their tiny home. Behind the milk glass he could see the shadowy figures of his family. He heard them laugh. Smelled the food. He wanted to be part of that, have part of the warmth of his family. He tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. The laughter fell. He tried again, and the smell of the food dimmed down, as did the light at the other end of the door. George knocked this time._  
_“Mum? Da? Pete? Louise? Harry? Are you there?” he brought out, voice small and breakable. The room went silent. Even the warmth that radiated and pulsed from the other side of the door disappeared. George started shivering._  
 _Within a blink, he found himself on the street. In front of his house, again. Where the door has closed on him, leaving him with no earthly possessions but his guitar and the content of his duffle bag. Snow was falling down, covering everything in a cold, white blanket. He loved this winterly scene, under normal circumstances, that was._  
 _His old home was glowing with a bright warm light, like the room behind the door before. The boy took a step towards the front window, careful not to overstep like he did before. Nothing changed, so he took another step, hearing the snow crunch under his feet. Collecting his courage, he took another few steps towards the house. And another. The house appeared to be as distant as before… George could feel a lump in his throat forming, his emotions taking over. This couldn’t be true. It was just a stupid dream. He tried running towards the door, as a last feat. He screamed, for Mum, for his Da, for his brothers and sister. It sounded like screaming into a pillow, muffled and distant. He fell on his knees, sobbing violently. He’d never get home. He wanted to. But he would never get in again. He reached out, finding something soft to bury his face in. He felt arms wrapping themselves around his body, a soft whispering in his ear. A flash of blue eyes and a warm smile, golden earrings came to his mind. He stopped crying, and went back to a dreamless slumber. As long as the arms wouldn’t leave him, he’d be able to rest soundl_ essly.

  
  
Ringo sighed in relief. George seemed to have calmed down, at least his sobbing had ceased. What a dream he must have had, he had whimpered endlessly, legs restless and finally crying in his sleep. The older man had felt his heart sink for the younger one, wanting to protect him from whatever haunted his dreams. He wanted to fight the monsters under their bed.  
  
He couldn’t do much, though. Until George had told him the full story, he could only hug him and tell him it was going to be okay. They were going to be okay.

 

A light snore woke George up. The room was still dark, thanks to the blinds before the windows, but a small ray of light shone coldly into the room, the sun reflecting on the snow outside. George noticed it was decorated quite sparsely, something that he hadn’t seen last time he was here.  
Ringo, still fully entangled with his own person, was blissfully unaware of the noise he was making, so George decided to poke his side. A small puff of air escaped Ringo’s mouth, so George did it again. The other man moved his eyes but kept his lids closed, the corners of his mouth tilting slightly upwards. George kissed him softly, feeling Ringo’s hands going through his hair, softly stroking his head. As the younger man let go, he was met with the unbelievable blue orbs his friend was blessed with, and a loving smile. Ringo kissed him again, lazily, pressing closer to George, grabbing him loosely by the hip. As they let go, George stared into his eyes, pupils starting to dilate, stroking Ringo’s sides.  
  
“Do you want to…?” the older man asked, hesitantly, not sure if this was right or even appropriate. His partner grinned at him, baring his fang-like canines. He looked mischievous like that, and his eyes shone with warmth. His dark brown hair hanging in his eyes, the skin over his thin frame turned into goosebumps.  
“Yeah,” he answered shortly.  
George kissed Ringo with renewed fervour, nipping at his bottom lip, slipping his fingers just under the band of his underwear. They both kissed again, deeper this time, the embers of lust slowly turning into fire. As Ringo kissed his throat, George could feel the slight scratch of his beard, which, weird enough, turned him on more. As his partner started rubbing his nipples, he moaned lowly. His hands gripping into Ringo’s hair, stroking and gripping. Ringo could feel himself hardening, but decided to take it slow, going back to kissing George deeply and languidly. The younger one didn’t seem to mind, either. They let go, to look at each other for a minute, enjoying each other’s presence. George kissed his nose, eyes half lidded.  
  
“You look so beautiful, George. Your souls shines through your eyes,” Ringo whispered, softly trailing his fingers over his boyfriend’s chest, who kissed him instead of answering. The kiss was sweet, but lustful. The younger man had a taste for what he could have, and he wanted it. Badly. He started rolling his hips slightly into Ringo’s groin, definitely encouraged by the reciprocated hardness. This elicited a small moan from his partner, who pushed against him, enjoying the buzz of lust that ran rampage in his body, as well as his heart flowing over with love for his partner. This wasn’t just fucking, it was making love. Praising his lover, caressing each other, it felt right. Ringo loved the sharp angles and the unbelievable soft heart George had. He loved their flushed bodies pressed together, they way the younger man looked at him when he entered him, held their heads close. The way his lips moved when he moaned and came. The sweet embrace that followed almost made them both cry. They giggled sweetly, covered in sweat, both flushed pink. Peering into each others eyes, like they wouldn’t ever need speech to tell each other what they felt, they nestled together, until George started pulling faces.  
  
“Bah, the whole bed is soaking in sweat and cum, and we’re still laying in this puddle like the gay pigs we are,” he whined, voice despairing, eyebrows knitted together in a from. Ringo could only laugh at George’s disgust, his laughter tinkling through the apartment like crystal. It was a sound George learned to love in their short moments together. That laugh could chase away his pain for a moment, if not for longer. He kissed the shorter man, softly, then rubbed their noses together.  
  
“Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Ringo asked, taking George’s hand, before getting up. George nodded, and came with him to the bathroom.  
They could take on the world, together. They could make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!  
> I had an emotionally heavy period starting in May.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going through some stuff, writing helps a hell of a lot.
> 
> The way I see it, is that I use the idea of a person (here our boys) and slightly alter them to an "AU".
> 
> Have a nice day, all c:


End file.
